


Our Future in Our Past

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Historical, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 14:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17920580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Alternate universe set iin Egypt in the 1930's. Q is assisting an archaeologist and odd things are happening at the dig site. Bond is the agent investigating the political upheavals and plots.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Despite hitting a creative wall several times, and having surgery, and having a power outage just as I was ready to post, here it is finally. Herein you will find, in no particular order, sand, plots, scorpions, clever pens, improbable plots and solutions and, oh yeah, smut.  
> I did have a bit of assistance. Research on the classic Jaguar mentioned and the ship that figures in the finale was helped along by my ever helpful honey, Mark. He knows cars and military history and suggested a fair few plot points. Of course, he has no idea what all else I put in there but that's ok too.

Chapter One

There was no escape from the heat at this hour of the day. The Giza plateau was an anvil for the sun. The dust got into everything and the grit on the skin made it all feel worse, every pore seeming too clogged with the stuff to even sweat. Q fluttered the sleeves of the long robe he wore over his tropical weight trousers and vest. He had long ago dispensed with the stiff collared shirt and the jacket was absolutely impossible. Professor Hastings chided him about going native but at least he was able to function a bit. Hastings, unwilling to acknowledge the wisdom of the desert people's choice of clothing, had to lie in his tent for the majority of the afternoon, leaving the dig to him. He had never thought to be spending his time in Egypt but there had seemed few alternatives and he was determined to make a success of something. He supposed he should be thankful that Hastings, a distant relative, had agreed to take him on, given the scandal. And it was not as if he had nothing to offer the expedition. He was well versed in multiple languages, could decipher hieroglyphs and was an expert in the newer photographic techniques that allowed for less artificial lighting and gave clearer images. He had designed or adapted a fair number of the items in his kit. And if his mind wandered to an attractive Egyptian man, who was to know? He was smart enough not to do anything other than look.

The tomb of Meskhenet was a marvelous find. Hastings had been overjoyed when his long years of research had finally led him to an untouched burial. This was not a royal burial by any means but it was a fascinating site. Meskhenet had been a female scribe in the palace of a pharaoh of the Fifth Dynasty. She had, apparently, been very respected and was buried with a wealth of goods and the inscriptions so far had revealed that she had been favored by the pharaoh and much mourned by her rather large family. The find and it's analysis would be the jewel in Hastings' career. Q carefully dusted the lens of the camera and checked the settings, finally shooting several frames of the wall in front of him. He paused to clean his glasses – damned dust again. He became aware of a voice calling down to him from the edge of the dig site. “Mister Bedford!” The calls came from Tareq,one of the senior Egyptian workers. 

He pulled himself up the wooden ladder and waved. The man hurried up, lean and agile even at an age where many would be sitting enjoying their grandchildren. He pointed at the other end of the dig where rough excavation was still ongoing. “Mister Bedford, there has been another accident.” Q hurried after, as Tareq headed to the spot he had pointed out. The diggers were milling about, some muttering among themselves. The accident was clear enough. A series of pulleys had been arranged to remove debris from the opening. Everything removed was to be sifted for artifacts. The apparatus was supported on a huge timbered framework, hauled all the way to the site by lorry and camel. Q had come up with the design to make the dig more efficient. Now half of it had collapsed into the pit. 

Q examined the mess and then turned and asked Tareq, “Was anyone injured?”

Tareq pointed at a man seated by the sifting screens. “Ahmet was knocked to the ground and has hurt his leg. Otherwise, all are well.” He looked at the wreckage for a moment. “They are scared, sir. There have been too may accidents. New tools break, braces collapse, even the food spoils.” He lowered his voice. “Some believe the site is cursed.”

Q looked at the workers then back at Tareq. “You don't believe that.”

Tareq shook his head. “I have been one of the most sought after workers for many seasons here. I have seen all manner of accidents and problems fall on digs. So, no, I do not think this is a curse. But they are not as old as I and have not seen as much as I have. They whisper among themselves and feed each other's fears.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of another worker, trailed by a red faced Hastings. “What happened here?” he asked of Tareq and Q, stepping to the edge of the pit.

Q decided he had better be the one to break the news. “Another accident, Professor. The frame collapsed and injured a worker.”

“This is not going to go well with the college, not at all. There have already been too many delays.” Hastings thumped a clenched fist against his thigh. “We'll need supplies to rebuild this.”

“Someone needs to go back to Cairo with Tareq and organize more timbers,” Q suggested.

“Well I couldn't go. Too much critical work here, You will have to go and you must leave Tareq here. I couldn't possibly spare him.” The professor turned and headed back to his tent. “Come along. I'll make a list of things for you to tend to and have you send some wires for me. You can take one of the other men with you to help.”


	2. Chapter 2

The drive back to Cairo was uneventful, meaning tedious and uncomfortable but nothing worse than that. Many of the tracks that passed for roads were unpaved and raised clouds of dust behind the lorry. Tareq's son, Mahmoud, was a taciturn fellow and drove with quiet skill, avoiding ruts, goats, and small children with the same economy of movement and lack of fuss. It was already late in the day when they arrived at the telegraph office where Q had decided to stop first since Professor Hastings had emphasized the importance of the messages he was to send. Q spent some time making sure the operator had the text exactly right and gave instruction to send all replies to him at Shepheard's. He returned to the lorry and had Mahmoud drive to the hotel, it's grand facade making the presence of a dusty transport such as theirs seem even shabbier. Mahmoud was to stay with family in the city and return tomorrow to seek out the various merchants they would need to visit to replace the damaged trusses and obtain some fresh supplies. 

The grand lobby was cool and populated by the usual assortment of Europeans seated at small tables or in comfortable chairs. Egyptian waiters moved here and there, bringing cool drinks, newspapers or the post to various guests. The man behind the registration desk looked with some disapproval at the young man standing in front of him and Q imagined he must be a sight. He was a bit above average height and slender and his clothes fit him poorly at the best of times but in the oppressive heat, his linen suit was limp and creased and his hair, which was overlong after so much time in the desert, was standing up in tufts and as dusty as his clothes. He spoke softly, unwilling to risk anyone overhearing his name. “I would like a room for one night, possibly two. The name is Mr. Aubrey Bedford, with Professor Hastings' expedition.”

The disapproval disappeared and the man bared his very white teeth in a broad smile. “Of course, sir. Professor Hastings colleague. I should have remembered you. Please allow one of my men to take your luggage.” He gestured a young man with a mild limp to come forward. He grabbed the small case which was all that Q had brought with him and led the way to the lift. Both the bellman and the lift operator wore uniforms with the hotel name embroidered on them. The room was on the third floor and looked on the courtyard. Q tipped the bellman and accepted the key and was pleased to lock the door and collapse in a chair by the window where there was a faint evening breeze. He was exhausted and hungry and Shepheard's had a quite good dining room. He was in no way fit for it at the moment. He mustered up the energy to start the bath and stripped out of his suit. He donned the cotton robe provided and hung the suit outside, calling down to the desk to have it brushed and pressed. He had a clean shirt and hung that up to remove any travel creases and finally sank into the water that he had deliberately left tepid. He pondered the damage done to the dig site over the past month. The scaffold was the most recent and the most serious. It had started with tools and equipment not arriving and being found days later with crates opened and the contents damaged. Spades and chisels that had been purchased new had broken after a few hours work. The list was considerable. He wondered if the Professor had a rival who was trying to steal the find from under him. Academic rivalries were sometimes quite fierce. But this was a non royal find, without the cachet of something like Carter's discovery. Hastings' competitors all had their own finds this season and were apparently quite busy enough. He kept thinking while he shaved and still hadn't any new ideas when the knock at the door announced his suit was ready. Maybe he would think better over a good meal.

Dressed as well as he could manage, he descended to the dining room, the high ceilings and bright lighting a background to the cheerful ebb and flow of conversation in several languages, the majority being in English. He settled at the small table he was led to and asked for a chilled glass of lemonade before deciding on his meal. He was sipping the cool tart beverage when he noticed the man at the entrance to the room. He was about Q's height but opposite in almost every other way. He stood military straight but managed to make the position look natural. He was blond and tanned and had light eyes. Q couldn't make out the color at that distance. The man wore a tropical weight suit that had to have been expressly tailored for the broad shoulders and narrow waist. Why, in heaven's name was Q staring? He certainly didn't need the fellow to notice. He quickly turned his attention to the newspaper beside his plate but still kept sneaking glances as the man crossed the room, coming straight toward him. A bright voice at his elbow startled him and he looked up to see Dennis Latham. Dennis was an old friend, one of the few who hadn't abandoned him in the face of his disgrace. Dennis pulled up a chair as the man veered left and seated himself opposite the very attractive young woman who had been given the table directly behind Q's. 

“Q old thing, how the devil are you?” Dennis asked as he waved a waiter over. “I heard you had come out here on some archaeology dig. I was glad you were able to get a position. Does it suit?”

“As well as can be expected,” replied Q. “It's not exactly how I was planning to be employed but Hastings is good enough and I am learning a fair bit. And I can tinker with my photography. It's better than having everybody whispering behind my back.”

Dennis shook his head. “I can't believe the bastard did that. We were all friends. He should have just kept his mouth shut. I mean it's not as if you were actually in bed. For heaven's sake, you were just kissing the fellow. And Gregory was certainly as much a participant as you were, never mind what he tried to say later.”

Q smiled a bit sadly. “And where do you think we would have ended up if Tom hadn't walked in? Face it Dennis. What I was doing was illegal. I just didn't think we would be caught at a house party with friends.” Q remembered the panic and the look on Gregory's face as he had stammered out that he had no idea what was happening and he had been tricked into the room and had been utterly surprised and disgusted when he had been kissed. Gregory had been the one to suggest the vacant bedroom as a place no one would look for them. Q had been the one who needed persuading, preferring to wait until after dark when the rest of the guests would be sleeping. But Gregory had been impatient and they had been discovered.

“Exactly! And Tom was a pretty poor excuse for a friend. I heard that the family paid a lot of money to the newspapers to silence the gossip and sent Gregory abroad to find a wife. And you know nobody in our old circle will speak to Tom at all.” Dennis accepted a drink and nodded approval at the waiter as he sipped it. Q was aware of the couple at his back, the man sitting directly behind him, The woman was laughing lightly at something he had said. “So,” Dennis resumed, “how goes the work then?”

Q sighed and toyed with the corner of the napkin. “It's a great site, a wonderful find for Professor Hastings. But we've been having trouble. Things keep going wrong. Most of it has been minor, frequent and annoying. But yesterday, a large piece of scaffolding collapsed and injured a worker. It's going to put the work back a great deal. So Hastings sent me here to get supplies to effect repairs. The repairs can be made provided we have the right supplies but I'm concerned that the workers are getting nervous. They see it all as a sign of some kind of curse. They may not want to continue at the dig if anything else happens.” The meal arrived and the conversation turned back to news of home and the itinerary Dennis was following in his travels. Q passed the most pleasant evening he could remember in a very long time. 

When Dennis left him after dinner, Q lingered a bit. It was pleasant to sit quite anonymously and enjoy an after dinner drink and watch the sudden fall of darkness over the desert. The dining room was gradually emptying and he finally retired to his room. On the way, he noticed the man he had seen before standing at the registration desk speaking to the evening attendant. He indulged himself with another long look before heading for the lift. Attractive the man might be but Q was not about to be enticed into any behavior that risked his position. He couldn't afford to loss of the job and certainly didn't relish being stranded in Egypt with no way home. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to commit the handsome fellow to memory and feed a few daydreams. Daydreams never hurt anyone after all.


	3. Chapter 3

When Q arose the following morning, he had a light breakfast delivered to his room along with the Egyptian Gazette. The paper devoted a lot of ink to the current politics. Following the most recent treaty, which removed British troops except where it was necessary to protect the Suez, the Young Egypt party had become increasingly vocal in their demands that all British interests be removed. They had a militant arm who wore green shirts and had been involved in violent clashes opposed by the so-called Blue shirts who aligned with the current government. He read as he ate, absorbing as much as he could about the matter. The Young Egypt party seemed to intend to wrest all Egyptian soil away from any British claim and include the Sudan as Egyptian territory. The Canal was a very big point of contention, encompassing commercial and military interests. There was a great deal of anxiety about the various uprisings and impact it was having on the price of cotton and the costs of goods traversing the Canal. Certainly important in the greater scheme of things but, at the moment, what he was most concerned about was the availability of the supplies he needed. He glanced at his watch and realized it had become later than he would have wished while he had sat over his breakfast.

Q hurried down to find Mahmoud waiting with the lorry. They went first to negotiate with the lumber merchant. Faisel was a shrewd businessman but was generally honest. He fortunately had sufficient timbers in his yard to rebuild the scaffolding and provide trusses for walls that might need bracing. Q and Mahmoud settled down with the man to bargain, a process that required many cups of strong coffee and a great deal of patience. Egyptian merchants rarely simply quoted a price for goods or services. Bargaining was a national pastime and subtlety in negotiations was a point of pride. Q knew better than to insult an established and respected merchant such as Faisel by simply accepting a quoted price. The discussion, interrupted several times by conversations about Faisel's large family, lasted much of the morning.

After settling a price and paying over a percentage to ensure delivery, the remainder to be paid when the merchandise arrived at the dig, Mahmoud drove them to a street of shops near one of the bazaars. There were a variety of goods that were needed and, since archaeology was a big business in Egypt, there were merchants who made their living supplying lamps, tools, tents and a range of other necessities. More bargaining garnered Q several crates worth of goods loaded and old business relationships cemented. He and Mahmoud also knew the names of each merchant's unmarried daughters. With a full lorry, they headed back to the hotel, making slow progress through the crowded streets clogged with traffic in the form of vehicles and livestock, shouted arguments over the right of way happening around them as Mahmoud contrived to navigate them through without an accident. The desk had a few wires for him, answers to some of the messages he had sent yesterday. He collected them and retreated to his room. He leafed through them impatiently. The important one was from the college, advising Professor Hastings that the delays were noted but the find was so important, funding was not going to be an issue. They mentioned that the photographs taken and forwarded the previous month had impressed some generous donors with the value of the site and resulted in several donations. Q allowed himself a momentary surge of pride. The expedition photography was all his work. Sadly, his name would never be attached to it. He was not a scholar and his association with the expedition was not to be publicized. Still, it felt very good to know he had been helpful.

He tucked all the messages away inside his diary and placed that back in his case. He wanted to supervise the transportation of the lumber and had arranged to accompany Faisel's men tomorrow. That meant he needed to be awake and ready early. He cleaned up and made a foray down to the bar, famous for the length of time one usually waited to be served. It was, happily, not so crowded today and he ordered and retreated to a small table overlooking the street and read yesterday's Times. Air mail post was an amazing thing. Cables and radios were quicker but there was something satisfying about holding an actual English newspaper the same as any other fellow in London might do. He spent some time reading the latest news including the increasingly alarming stories hinting of another possible European conflict. He shook his head wondering why nothing seemed to have been learned from the last one, bloody as it had been. He had little interest in sport so he only glanced at the scores. He finally perused the society section and was taken by surprise. There was an announcement of the engagement of Elizabeth Chase of Boston to Gregory Elmsford. It seemed Gregory had followed his parents' wishes after all and found a young woman to wed. Q wondered if it was a case of an American heiress wanting a title. Gregory was minor nobility after all. And being from America, she might not be aware of the scandal. Q hoped Gregory was happy or at least content with his marriage. As much as his own life had been turned upside down, it wasn't really Gregory's fault. 

He was deciding whether to order another gin and tonic when a shadow fell over the page in front of him. He glanced up and was shocked to see the handsome man from the previous evening. He smiled and gestured at the chair opposite Q. “May I join you?” His voice was deep and held a faint trace of accent Q couldn't immediately identify. Unable to think of a reason to refuse, Q nodded and watched as the man seated himself, adjusting the creases of his finely tailored trousers. Seen closer than last evening, the man's eyes were a remarkable shade of glacial blue and seemed to be alert to everything in the room. Q immediately felt the attraction begun last night strengthen. He gestured to the waiter hovering nearby and asked for another drink and inclined his head at the other man. “Double Macallan, please, water on the side.” The waiter nodded and hurried off to the bar. 

“I'm sorry, but I don't recall meeting you,” Q ventured. He was convinced the man had not even noticed him last evening, absorbed in the conversation with his female dinner companion.

“Sorry, no. We've not met before. My name is Richard Sterling. I'm a journalist.” His smile creased his face in a way that made him even more handsome.

Q felt himself go red then pale. Despite the heat, he felt a sudden chill and stiffened his spine and his expression. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have to be going.” He knew it was rude but the last person on the planet he wished to speak to was a journalist. No doubt the man saw the opportunity for a story that would expose Gregory and himself to more embarrassment on the eve of the man's marriage. 

Sterling reached out a hand and grasped his wrist as Q attempted to rise from his chair. “Beg your pardon, Should I have spoken to Professor Hastings first? I really would like a story about the expedition. Do you think he might be agreeable?” 

Not interested in Gregory then? Q's curiosity got the better of him.. This could be a ploy but the papers were always looking for a new sensation. Egyptian archaeology readily caught the attention of the public. He relaxed marginally. Sterling sat back and smiled engagingly. “I've been hearing about a fantastic new find. I asked the desk clerk about you and he told me you were with Hastings. Mr. Bedford?” Their drinks arrived and Q sipped his and watched as Bond added a small splash of the water to the scotch and swirled it gently. He seemed to feel the scrutiny and looked up. “The barmen always seem to add too much or too little. Too little and the flavor doesn't bloom, too much and you hardly taste it at all.” Sterling sampled the liquid and gave a satisfied smile. “So, Mr. Bedford?”

“Yes, I'm Aubrey Bedford. And I'm with the dig. What exactly are you after?” He was still suspicious but the Professor might like some extra publicity, if it was of the right sort. He sipped sparingly at his own glass, wanting to keep his wits about himself.

“Well, for a start, I heard it was a complete tomb, rather rare that.” Sterling had produced a little notebook and mechanical pencil but didn't immediately make any notes.

Q nodded hesitantly. “Yes but it's not a royal tomb. The occupant was a functionary in the court.”

Sterling considered that for a moment. “Might be of greater interest. After all, there are vastly more commoners than princes. More relatable somehow.”

“In this case, princesses. The tomb belonged to a woman. The antechamber is already a wonderful find but we need to get the burial chamber opened.” Q sighed and shook his head. “The process takes a while to be done correctly.”

“Sounds like a complex job,” Sterling prompted, after jotting something in the notebook.

Q frowned. “Not really. But we've had several setbacks.” He felt Sterling's focus sharpen. “Oh seriously, do not tell me that you intend to print some rot about curses felling those who disinter mummies.” 

“Not at all. I think the story is fascinating all by itself. No need to add sensationalist elements.” Sterling consulted the little notebook, as though verifying his facts. “You say the tomb belonged to a woman?”

Warming to the subject, Q leaned a bit forward. “Indeed. It is the tomb of Meskhenet, a scribe of a Fifth Dynasty pharaoh, that's roughly 4300 years ago. She seems to have had a long life and a large family. The workmanship on the tomb antechamber is very fine. We are hopeful the burial chamber may be even more significant. If you are really interested, I can ask Professor Hastings to give you a tour and answer your questions.”

Sterling turned his empty glass pensively and looked up with the barest of smiles quirking his lips. “Or perhaps, if the Professor is busy, you might show me around? I'm sure I would find it most instructive.” 

Q felt the blush rising over his face, making his ears burn. He stammered out a reply. “I'm sure that I can, uhh, fill in, if the Professor is, umm, occupied.” He picked at a loose thread at the hem of the tablecloth.

Sterling stood and extended a hand. Q hurriedly stood as well, meeting the handclasp and finding it warm, dry and as confident as the man himself and lasting just a fraction too long. “I'll look forward to our next meeting then.” He released Q's hand and turned to leave the bar.

Q was conflicted and settled back in the chair, considering whether it was better if Sterling came to the dig or stayed away. He was attracted to the man but he couldn't be sure if Sterling's pleasant demeanor was directed at him, a professional mask designed to ingratiate him with sources of information or just the man's general approach to everyone. He was suddenly not terribly interested in dining in public. He stopped to request a light meal to be sent to his room later and retreated to ponder the encounter.


	4. Chapter 4

Q spent the afternoon reading more of the papers. His meal arrived and he nibbled as he read. Finally full of politics, he began to sketch out some improvements to the scaffolding. He listened to the evening prayer calls and drew another bath as the last of the light disappeared, no long drawn out dusk in Egypt. He sank into the water, determined to indulge. Who knew when he would have this opportunity again? He rested his head on the edge of the tub and closed his eyes. It was a luxury to have no immediate responsibility. He had completed all the tasks Professor Hastings had set him. Nothing more was to be done until the following day when he and Mahmoud would join the trek back to the dig. He idly stroked a hand over his skin, brushing his groin and feeling the stir of interest. This was also a luxury. He had very little privacy at camp and he needed to be even more careful than the average young man. Crying out a phantom lover's name could be overheard and, in his case, bring very unwelcome scrutiny. 

He let his hands wander a bit more. The face that kept smiling at him in his imagination was Sterling's. The man was very attractive, had pleasant manners, and those eyes! Q could not recall ever seeing eyes that particular shade of blue. He wrapped a languid hand around his prick. Surely Sterling would have a firm and commanding grip. He tightened his fingers and ran his free hand over his chest, pinching his sensitive nipples lightly. He stretched and sighed, luxuriating in the fantasy. He thrust up, driving his hardening cock into his fist and bringing his other hand down to tug his balls. He quickened his movements, the urgency growing. Behind his closed lids, he saw Sterling's ice blue eyes and imagined how good his hands would feel and cursed under his breath as he spilled hot fluid over his hand and into the bath, He sank back steadying his breathing. Finally he rinsed and climbed to his feet. He wondered vaguely if Sterling would be bothered to realize he was the focus of an erotic fantasy and decided that was an avenue he did not want to pursue. 

Q donned his striped cotton pyjamas and walked to the window. He felt the last of the moisture dry on his skin, cooling him further. He stared out at the city and the desert beyond. He wasn't exactly unhappy. He was employed productively in a job that allowed him to use his brain. His family were disappointed in him but they always had been. He was not the son his parents had wished for, bookish and uninterested in his father's law practice. His homosexual predilection had been the final straw. They had turned him out of the house, advising him they no longer considered him their son. His sister had managed to send him a note and suggested he contact their distant cousin, Matthew Hastings, and see if he might want an assistant for his Egyptian expedition. Hastings had recently lost his protege as the young man had wanted to strike out on his own and he was happy to take on his relative. It meant leaving England behind and the gossip that seemed to follow him everywhere. The same gossip meant that his name would never be associated with the official research. But the salary was generous and Hastings relied on him and was generally kind if a bit absent minded. Q sighed and turned from the window. He supposed everyone had regrets. Best get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long and tedious day and the bed here was a great deal more comfortable than the camp bed in his tent. He lay quietly, listening to the night noises of the city through the open window before finally dozing off. 

He was not sure what had awakened him some hours later. He lay in the dark, listening intently. A sudden sharp thump and a wheezing gasp brought him bolt upright. He made out movement on the floor at the foot of the bed. He rolled off the mattress and ducked into the corner next to the wardrobe. There appeared to be two people struggling. He caught a glint of light and realized one of them had a knife. The wrestling went on for a few more moments before one of the figures collapsed. Q stayed as still as possible where he was, unsure what danger he might be in. The other man moved, turning the switch on the wall to bring up the lights. Q blinked, the sudden illumination and his lack of glasses making it difficult to see. The figure finally became a bit clearer as Sterling stepped forward, He looked down at the shape on the floor, a man in Egyptian robes, lying quite still. Q noted the knife in Sterling's hand and swallowed hard. The gesture must have revealed his fright. Sterling nodded at the still form. “He's unconscious.” He glanced at the knife and nudged a metal shape on the floor, a rusty hand held battery lantern. “He had this and the knife.”

“I don't understand,” Q ventured hoarsely. “What is he doing here? Why are you here?” The whole situation was surreal.

Sterling knelt down and used a shoelace he produced from a pocket to tie the man's hands together before rummaging through his clothing. He sat back on his heels and frowned. “I was on my way to my room and saw him slinking along the corridor. I followed him and saw him use the knife to slip your door lock. He was rifling your case when I slipped in after him. He didn't seem to want to answer for his actions and turned the knife on me.” 

Q cast a worried glance at the other man, looking for injuries. “He didn't get me. He wasn't quite as good as he thought.” Sterling smirked as though this was a frequent occurrence, being underestimated by armed assailants.

“Perhaps he's just a random thief,” Q suggested. “Should we call the police?” Q was feeling a bit steadier and edged over to the bedside table to retrieve his glasses. Skirting the form on the floor, he walked over to his case. He examined it and found nothing missing but his diary was open, the contents disarranged. He glanced through the papers and assured himself they were all there. He was distressed at the idea of some unknown individual handling his belongings. He tapped the papers together to even the edges and placed them neatly back in the diary. 

“Leave this to me.” Sterling picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver, low enough that Q could not make out the words. He hung up and righted a chair that had been turned over in the struggle with the intruder, seating himself. He focused his gaze on Q. Feeling nervous and exposed, uncomfortably aware he was in his pyjamas, Q began to shake out and refold his clothing, placing it neatly in the case. “Someone will be here in a bit to take him away.” Sterling nudged the man with the toe of a polished shoe. “Why Q?” he asked, the change in subject causing Q to drop the shirt he was folding. 

He picked up and smoothed the fabric. “How did you know I was called that?”

Sterling shrugged. “I heard your friend at dinner the other night call you Q. Your given name is Aubrey. A nickname?”

Q debated whether he wanted this man to know more about him. It was a small thing in the end, but it suggested a level of intimacy that might be unsafe with a new acquaintance. Making a sudden decision, uncharacteristically bold, Q replied, “I dislike my given name. My middle name is Quillan, which is hardly better. I began to use the initial.” Q felt a chill slip over him. “If you heard Dennis call me Q, then you must have heard a great deal more.” He began to physically draw away, turning a bit to face the window. “I suppose I should be grateful you've been discreet enough not to bring it up.”

Sterling's voice was calm and unruffled. “I am hardly the sort to criticize someone else's private life and I don't write for a scandal sheet. My interest in the dig is genuine. This development concerns me. I wonder what this fellow might have done if I had not intervened.”

Q looked back, startled. “You're not suggesting he might have threatened me.” He shook his head in negation of the very idea. He was surely not of any importance to draw that sort of attention. If anything, he strove to be unnoticed. It was infinitely safer on many levels.

Sterling tapped one finger against his knee, then pointed at the limp form of the intruder. “He was looking for something, some piece of information. Is there something in your papers he might have been after?”

Q moved slowly back to the open suitcase. He lifted the diary, an old fashioned leather bound book that he used for a variety of purposes. He extracted the sheaf of papers that comprised the business he had been conducting for the expedition. He shuffled them and then took a deep breath and handed them over. “I can't imagine what might motivate something like this. These are all the messages and memos I was supposed to be dealing with for Professor Hastings. Maybe you can see something I don't.”

The papers were accepted and Q collapsed into a chair opposite, twisting his fingers in nervous movements. Sterling examined each page, reading carefully and putting each sheet aside as he finished. He scanned the last page and handed the packet back. “You're right. I don't see anything relating to the expedition being problematical.” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the chair arm. “Do you have a map? Surveyor's map preferably.”

Q shook his head. “I didn't bring one. The road back and forth to Cairo is reasonably well marked.” Sterling stood up, checked their prisoner, and opened the door a tiny bit. He eased out and returned a few moments later with a packet that opened out to a map of the area around Cairo. At that moment , there was a soft tap at the door. Sterling raised a finger to his lips, cautioning silence. He stood to the side of the door, withdrawing a pistol from inside his jacket, and released the latch. There were two men in the corridor. One appeared European, the other Egyptian., Both wore unremarkable suits. 

“Richard?” the European man said in a very low voice. He stepped forward when Sterling moved to face them, putting the weapon away again. 

“Montrose, good of you to come so quickly. Mr. Al Kindi, very good to be working with you again.” He gestured at the man still unconscious on the carpet. “I believe you may want to have an extensive conversation with this person, I'd suggest beginning with the color of his shirt.” The two men hauled the intruder upright. He struggled briefly and then went limp between the two men. They hauled him unceremoniously toward the door.

Mr. Al Kindi looked over his shoulder. “He'll be at the house off the bazaar. You think he's part of our investigation?”

“I'd bet on it. He was after something here. I'm going to work on this end. See what you can shake loose from him.” The other men both nodded. They checked the corridor and then exited the room, heading in the direction of the stairs. Sterling turned back and Q drew a little closer as he spread out the map on the bed. 

“You aren't really a journalist, are you?” Q caught the faint quirk at one corner of the finely shaped mouth. “I'll bet your name isn't Sterling either.”

Cool blue eyes met his. “Most people would just accept what they are told.”

“Maybe I'm not most people,” Q responded. “I am not so naive that I can't see what's right in front of me. Journalists don't generally go about armed or take on burglars in hotel rooms.”

Sterling focused on the map for a moment more than gave a decisive nod. “I work for a branch of the British government. I perform jobs that the average person never hears about. I like to tell myself it's for the good of the Empire.” His smile was a very ironic twist of his lips. “Sterling is an alias I've used before. It's a well established background. My real name is James Bond.”

Q crossed his arms over his chest and studied the brocade pattern of the carpet under his bare feet. “How much did you know about me before you approached me?”

“I had a very complete dossier on every person I might have contact with. It is part of what I do after all. Yes, I knew about you and Gregory Elmsford. Elmsford was apparently very eager to say the whole matter was your fault. He seems to have come out of the whole thing rather well, wealthy fiancee and all. You, on he other hand, left the country and a very promising career at the University. You wouldn't have been arrested you know. Elmsford's family paid off everyone quite well and bringing action against you would have brought his name back into the news.” 

Bond went back to studying the map. “You don't seem much bothered by it, by my desires, I mean.” Q was rather puzzled that the man had stated what he knew with no air of disgust or disapproval.

“I have seen a great deal of what's wrong with this world, Q. I wouldn't categorize sex of any sort as part of that wrong. If anything, the connections people make with each other are one of the few things that make life bearable.” Bond drew out his notebook and consulted a few pages. He tapped a finger on the map. “Is this the location of the dig?”

Q leaned in so their heads were close together. He placed his own finger a little to the east of where Bond's had landed. “It's actually a bit closer to edge of the plateau. Further from the main Cairo road. Is that significant?”

“I'm not sure yet.” Bond gave him a very direct look. “Would you still be willing to help? I need a reason to be out there. The journalist cover is a good one. I don't want anyone else to know why I am really there.”

“I still don't know why you need to be there,” Q protested. “I understand if you're some kind of secret agent but maybe if you tell me what you're looking for, I could be some real help.”

“I'd really rather not risk you getting more involved in something that may be dangerous.” Bond eyed the knife he had placed on the bed next to the map.

Q picked up the blade, a wickedly sharp curved thing that looked as if it had seen a great deal of use. “I think I may be in danger regardless of what I know or don't know. I think I'd prefer to be a little better prepared if it's all the same to you.”

Bond nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Point taken. You know the Young Egypt party that's been in the news? They have a militant arm, the Green shirts. We believe they are planning something quite big. They've been buying up weapons but we don't know where they're storing them or how they're moving them. I'm beginning to suspect they have a cache somewhere near your dig and they're trying to scare off the workers so Professor Hastings will have to leave for the season. Then they can move through unobserved. It must be quite close to your site. Any ideas?”

Q studied the map, matching it with the images of the area in his mind. “The entire plateau area is riddled with old dig sites, failed efforts or empty tombs. Any one of them might be a good hiding spot. I'd say the more recently abandoned digs would be the first place I'd look. Any disturbance there would be easily passed off as from an excavation that didn't prove out.” He made a quick foray back to his suitcase and retrieved his diary. He pulled an envelope out of a pocket in the back cover and spread out the handful of photographic prints inside. “This may be what you're looking for. This is a little further from the Cairo road. Our site is about a third of the way closer. It was last worked about seven years ago but I took these photos about two months apart, one when I arrived and one just a few days ago. The area looks more recently disturbed to me. I had intended to go out and have a look and maybe take some more photos and ask if Professor Hastings thought there was anything worthwhile there but too many things were happening at our dig.”

Bond examined the two images side by side. “You took these? How did you get this detail? These are amazing.”

“I make my own gear mostly. German optics are about the best but their mechanisms are too fidgety sometimes. I usually re engineer them to be smaller and easier to operate and I use a new film process that works well with available light. I develop all my own film.” Q smiled slightly. He was proud of his skills but few people seemed to value what he did apart from the professor.

Bond held up the photograph. “Can you point this place out on the map? As nearly as possible please.”

Q examined the map carefully and gestured for the pencil Bond was holding. “This is our dig site,” he marked the spot with the letter H. “This is the area in the photos.” He marked an X there and pointed to the geographical markings. “This is a wadi right beside it.”

Bond studied the map a bit longer then folded it carefully. “I'm going to talk to some more contacts here in Cairo. I'll drive out to the dig site in a day or so. Can you let Professor Hastings know? Will you be able to maintain my cover with him?”

He sounded concerned. Q considered carefully. “I've kept secrets all my life. I can tell him you want an interview. He'll be so pleased at the prospect of raving about the dig, I doubt he will ask many questions.” He stared at his hands, still twisting nervously in his lap. “Is this likely to be dangerous for you?”

Bond shrugged. “Most of my jobs are risky, some more than others. I'm usually more dangerous than the people I'm after.” His expression might be generously called a smile but it was cold and made Q think of the big Nile crocodiles. Oddly, it did not make him fearful. 

Bond collected the knife and grasped it and the map in his left hand. His right settled on Q's shoulder, a warm and welcome presence. “You be careful. When I leave, lock the door and wedge the chair under the handle. Then get some sleep.” The broad fingers gave a gentle squeeze before he exited the room, presumably headed for his own. Q bemusedly took his advice to heart, locking the door and blocking the handle with the chair back. He considered the windows but the three story drop to the courtyard was quite sheer and the breeze was lovely. He settled back against his pillows, convinced he would lie awake all night but the excitement, once over, left him drained and he slipped into confused dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

There was no message at the desk for him when he descended to the lobby for breakfast. Q had no reason to feel disappointed. Bond had other business at hand and to imagine he might take the time to leave a note for a man he had just met was ludicrous. It also might be less than safe, he reflected. He finished his tea and gathered up his things and stood under the awning as the early morning workers and tourists began their day. Mahmoud pulled up and drove to the agreed upon spot to meet Faisel's men. Q checked the invoices and accounted for all the purchased goods and the group of lorries and wagons formed up in a line, the slower vehicles last and Mahmoud driving at the rear. The position was practical in that they would see any of the transports having difficulty but it also meant the dust poured into the lorry in an almost choking cloud making their slow progress a misery. With stops for water and to check the fastening of the various loads, the journey was a day long affair. Q took turns driving and fanned himself in the passenger seat when Mahmoud took over. The dig site finally hove into view with the first of the delivery vehicles pulled up and already being offloaded. Professor Hastings was attempting to direct the process with little effect but Tareq was calmly coordinating his teams of workers with his usual dignity. 

Q jumped down from his seat and pulled out the invoices and signed off as the last of the loads were deposited in their correct location. He carefully counted out the remainder of the payment to Faisel's foreman, who also happened to be the man's son-in-law. He received a receipt in the elegant script of Faisel's clerk, another son-in-law, and watched as the caravan retreated back along the road to Cairo. Professor Hastings was mopping his forehead as he approached Q. Before the man could speak, Q reached into the case he had placed by his feet and presented him with the memoranda and messages. “The college is actually happy according to the wire. We have additional funding.” He tapped the topmost paper. “And we were able to get all the supplies including extra lumber.”

Hastings studied the paper for a moment. “This is very good news but we've had two more of the diggers leave. I believe Tareq is the only reason there weren't more. He apparently told them that if he, a grandfather, could stay then they were all little children for wanting to leave. He is an invaluable man, Aubrey. I am not at all sure what I would have done without him for this season.”

“Any other sources of disquiet?” Q asked, ignoring the use of his despised first name. 

“A few small hand tools went missing. Tareq insisted someone must have been careless and left them somewhere. And we did find a spade in an odd corner of the camp. The strangest part is it doesn't seem the same as the other ones we purchased. They were all from the same merchant I thought.” Hastings scrutinized the rest of the messages and then gave a vague smile. “At any rate, you did an admirable job, my boy.” He wandered off in the direction of his own tent leaving Q trying to imagine what a misplaced spade might mean. 

He spent the remainder of the evening tinkering with the mechanism of his favorite camera, It needed frequent care as did all his equipment. As he disassembled and cleaned, he found his mind wandering to what Bond might be doing. What sort of things might he have to do to secure information? Was he taking risks? It seemed as if he accepted that his work was dangerous so he was hopefully careful. He tried not to imagine what might happen if his interest sparked questions among the wrong people. If the matter was political and involved weapons, anything might happen. 

Q deliberately pushed the thoughts away and began to look through his collection of negatives. He had in mind to try printing some of them with a new process. He flipped through the more recent sections first and the tiny hairs stood up on his arms and the nape of his neck. Some of them were missing. And many of the others were out of the order he had left them in. He looked more carefully. The negatives for the prints he had shown Bond were gone as were the rest he had taken of the same spot. Someone had gone through almost all of the negatives and prints he now saw. His usual system was his own and he clearly saw the disruption. He wished Bond were here right now. He had no way to communicate with him to let him know about this. It surely had a connection to the investigation. He very carefully removed the prints from his diary and tucked them in a pocket, He intended to keep them on his person from now on.

Unable to sleep, Q wandered out of his tent and paced the boundaries of the dig site. There was a gibbous moon and he didn't need the battery lantern he brought with him. He passed Hastings' tent, the man obviously asleep, snoring echoing from the interior. He saw a huddled form near the lorry and realized after a moment that it was Mahmoud. He must have decided to protect the vehicle from any potential damage. It was their only relatively quick way to get help if it was needed. He walked past without disturbing the man. The remainder of the workers were camped together around small fire pits. A few of them were awake, their fellows all bedded down. Q saw the hand of Tareq in this. He must have decided keeping a few of the men awake was a reasonable step. Q rather agreed but worried about what might happen if someone was really targeting the dig site. Might someone be hurt more than just the minor injuries so far? He stopped at one of the fires and accepted a cup of strong sweet coffee and crouched in the Egyptian fashion. Conversation was not necessary. Those awake at this hour were all there for the same reason. He finished his coffee and continued on his slow progress around the camp. 

Q paused at the edge of the steps that descended to the tomb opening. He perched on the top step and stared out at the desert, listening to the faint sounds of the shifting sands. The relative quiet was broken by the cry of a fennec calling for a mate or announcing a successful hunt. The camels shifted restlessly and one of the workers got up to settle the beasts. Quiet descended again. The moon moved in it's slow progress as he sat and eventually felt tired enough to sleep. He returned to his tent and his uncomfortable cot and tossed restlessly until the workers began to stir to make breakfast.


	6. Chapter 6

Q had little appetite but he forced himself to eat some of the chickpeas and bread and had several cups of the strong coffee the workers brewed. He took his notes and sketches and went to supervise the reconstruction of the scaffold. Some of the timbers had already been removed but the last few were being hoisted out of the pit when he arrived. When they had been laid out away from the edge he crouched down to examine them and was confronted with the fact that the collapse was no accident. The timbers had been cut almost through so the strain on the weakened wood eventually snapped the rest. Only a few of the lower members had to be sabotaged to make the whole weighty structure unstable.

It wasn't really a surprise to him but he felt the impact of seeing the evidence. The workers appeared not to have noticed and he set about getting the replacement structure well begun. He lost track of time as the sun climbed and the day grew hotter. He went to the water skin that hung nearby and drank and then wet his handkerchief and wiped the dust from his face and neck. He was caught by movement on the edge of the plateau. A small cloud of dust was being stirred up and whatever was responsible was coming nearer. He eventually distinguished the sound of an engine and made out the shape of an automobile, Except, this was hardly the type of vehicle he expected to see here. This was an elegant touring car, it's artistic lines reflecting the desert sun from ivory color paint and touches of chrome and the wheel spokes picked out in bright scarlet. The apparition slowed and stopped nearby, a tall figure extricating himself from the red leather interior. How had Bond managed to find a car like that in the middle of bloody nowhere? It was unmistakably Bond, clad in a brilliantly white shirt and dark grey tie and a suit in pale silvery grey that had to be silk. He slung the suit coat over the back of the passenger seat and adjusted the tilt of his hat. He raised a hand and Q stepped forward. He caught himself just in time. “Mr. Sterling, so good to see you again..” He extended a hand after giving it a surreptitious wipe against the side of the robe he wore. Bond grasped his hand and gave his form a quizzical up and down scan. 

“It's a pleasure to see you again Mr. Bedford. I thought I would take you up on the invitation to meet Professor Hastings.” Once again his hand lingered longer than customary. Q felt a bit dizzy and was unsure if it was the heat or something else but he summoned what composure he could manage and withdrew his hand and pointed in the direction of the camp. 

“I'd be very happy to introduce you. If you would follow me?” He found Bond quickly catching him up and walking at his side rather than trailing him, brushing his elbow every few steps. “I wasn't really expecting to see you this soon. I have some things to tell you that happened since we spoke.” Bond halted his forward progress with a touch to his forearm.

“We'll talk to Hastings. You said he rarely does much in the middle of the day. I'll suggest you tour me around the site. We can talk then.” 

Hastings was working at the tables with the smaller artifacts under the canvas canopies that blocked the sunlight but scarcely had any impact on the heat. “Aubrey, I thought you were reconstructing the pulley rig?” The professor raised his head and noticed the solid figure next to Q. “I am sorry. I didn't realize we had company.” he said, rising to shake hands and gazing at Q for the introductions.

“This is Mr. Sterling, Professor. I met him in Cairo. He's a journalist and became interested in the dig and I offered to introduce him to you to see if you might allow him to write a story about our lady.” Q stepped back, pleased he had sounded composed and didn't stumble over the name Bond was using. Somehow Bond had insinuated itself into Q's brain even though he had first introduced himself as Sterling..

Bond smiled very engagingly and shook the professor's hand firmly. “I am delighted to meet you, Professor Hastings. I had heard rumors about the dig and when I had the opportunity to talk to Mr. Bedford, I found myself utterly fascinated. I understand you've worked a long time to find this tomb and it may be quite a unique find. I was hoping to write a series of articles on your discovery if you would permit.”

Hastings straightened up and beamed. Q couldn't remember seeing him this pleased. “I will, of course, be composing several scholarly articles, possibly a book. But something to gain the attention of the general non academic public is a very fine idea.” His brows drew down suspiciously. “ None of that mummy's curse nonsense that haunted Carter. I absolutely will not countenance such drivel.”

Bond shook his head. “Never fear, sir. I am certain the search and the findings are sufficiently exciting. I would like to have a look around if I may? Oh, but I am sure you are very busy with your work. I would hate to distract you.” He glanced around and gave Q a quick conspiratorial grin and then turned a serious face back to Hastings. “Since Mr. Bedford and I are already acquainted, perhaps he might be my guide.”

Hastings gave a happy nod at the suggestion. “Wonderful. I am really quite busy and Aubrey has been my right hand. He'll be happy to show you the site. And do stay for supper. Indeed, you may wish to stay for a day or so. I think we may be ready to open the burial chamber and I doubt that is a sight you would care to miss.”

“I believe I will stay. I would hate to miss such an exciting moment.” Bond shook Hastings' hand again and followed Q out into the blaze of the sun. They walked slowly to the site where the scaffold was being reconstructed. “I could almost hear your teeth grinding,” Bond commented.

Q looked at him puzzled and then grinned a bit lopsidedly. “He insists on calling me Aubrey. I don't think it's malicious but he says it's undignified to use anything but one's proper name. And it isn't as if I can complain very loudly. I'm lucky he sees fit to employ me.”

“Given what I've seen of your resourcefulness and composure, I think any number of concerns would be grateful to employ you.” Bond examined the work being done and watched as Q stepped up to speak to the foreman. There was a short discussion and Q nodded approval and stepped over to the pile of discarded timbers from the original structure. He nudged the end of one of the pieces with the toe of his boot, scarred and scuffed. Bond's sharp blue eyes evaluated the smooth cut that went almost all the way through before a splintered torn segment showed where the stress had finally rent the beam apart. He nodded as he caught Q's eye, conveying his understanding and not wanting to speak in front of the workers. 

They moved on toward the tomb itself. “The pit back there is an associated site. We think it might be another tomb for a relative or maybe a funerary temple. Wealthy families sometimes built them. If this woman was as high in royal favor as the inscriptions imply, she would have been very well off indeed. Tombs and grave goods such as we've found were not cheap.”

“What did Hastings mean about opening the burial chamber?” Bond asked as they stepped down into the antechamber. Daylight penetrated a fair way and there were incandescent bulbs wired up to a generator outside. Bond looked around the space with genuine interest. The walls were covered in intricate carvings accented by colors still brilliant after millenia. He removed his hat and let it hang from a finger, examining the decoration.

Q pointed to the far end where a few items were still stacked against a wall with a series of wax seals visible on the shape of a door behind them. “We photograph and document every single artifact as it's removed and number everything on a floor diagram. Nothing is allowed to be moved until that's done. It's very time consuming. But, as you see, there is not much left to move so we will get to the door soon.” Q paused and lowered his voice. “You saw the way the timber was cut?”

Bond nodded. “Sabotage for sure. What else?”

Q tapped the location of his pocket under the robe. “When I got back to my tent I found all my prints and negatives had been interfered with and the ones of the site I showed you at the hotel were missing. I have the copies I showed you and I've been keeping them with me.” 

Bond frowned and tapped his foot a few times. “Any reason we couldn't take a ride around the plateau? Perhaps I need to get a feel for the entirety of the place for my article, if anyone asks.” 

Q nodded and his eyes widened. “In that car of yours?” 

“Oh, you like the car. Anything else you like?” Bond's grin was mesmerizing. Q licked his lips and backed up and found no retreat. The wall behind him was as solid as it's workmen had intended 4300 years ago. “I could be misreading this, but I don't really think so.” Bond's voice smooth and low whispered in the quiet of the underground space and Q's senses were overloading. Bond was very close, the heat of his body overwhelming even over the omnipresent desert heat. His eyes seemed to see through to Q's soul and he caught the faintest hint of mint on Bond's breath as his lips closed the tiny distance and Bond was kissing him. Uncertain how to react, Q pressed his palms to the wall behind him and shivered as a large calloused hand cupped the back of his neck, the thumb rubbing gently at the tender skin under his ear. He gasped involuntarily and Bond took advantage and slid his tongue forward, tracing Q's teeth and tickling the roof of his mouth. He pulled away slowly, finishing with a soft lick to Q's lower lip. “I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you in the dining room at the hotel.”

Q felt a bit hysterical. “I'm sure the maitre'd would have had some objection to that,” he ventured. 

Bond grinned. “The important consideration is, do you have any objection to it?”

Q shook his head mutely. He brought his hands to Bond's waist and opened to another softly exploring kiss. His fingers flexed involuntarily and Bond gave an appreciative hum and finished the kiss with a gentle nip . He stepped back, adjusting his sleeves. “We are continuing this later.” He stepped up into the glare of the daylight, the sun gilding his close cropped blonde hair before he replaced his hat. He led the way to the car which proved to be even more breathtaking up close. The lines were graceful and the surfaces reflective, the whole making a statement of luxury and speed. Q gingerly ran a finger over a gleaming fender. “You like her?” Bond asked with a knowing smirk. “She's a Jaguar.” He pointed to the leaping cat affixed to the forward end of the bonnet.

“Like is a vast understatement.” Q leaned in and eyed the glossy wood of the dash, the cleanly finished gauges set into the artistic curves. “How fast?”

“Fast enough.' Bond patted the bonnet. “The engine is a 3.5 litre six cylinder. It generates 125 horsepower and she'll go 160 km/hour. I had her shipped by the company.” Q settled carefully in the plushly padded red leather of the passenger seat and watched with open appreciation as Bond slid behind the wheel and started the engine. It erupted with a throaty roar that raised the hairs on Q's arms. The sound was primal and visceral. He leaned back in the seat as Bond shifted and the car moved in an arc, circling back to the road. “Of course,” Bond called over the engine and wind noise, “I'm not getting to that speed on what passes for roads out here.” The car's back end swerved out slightly and he corrected smoothly. “She's finicky about rough surfaces. Makes me pay attention.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bond did not take a direct route to the area on the pictures. That might have drawn too much attention. He made a leisurely progress around the section including the Hastings dig and two other reasonably current sites, although neither of those was presently active. They eventually swung by the area on the photos. Bond pulled the car up at the top of the wadi and stepped out of the car as though admiring the view. He said nothing as they stood there, taking care to turn and look at other views as well as the one he was concerned with. 

Eventually they got back in the car and he drove around a small collection of dilapidated mastabahs. Bond parked in the shade cast by the largest of them and turned off the engine. “I think you may be correct about the photos. The area is a perfect site for a cache of weapons or other supplies. We've been hearing rumors of a major uprising, possibly an attack on the Canal itself.”

Q stared at him. “That would be insane. There are thousands of British troops protecting the Canal, trained soldiers. Surely an attack couldn't succeed.”

“That depends,” Bond said musingly. “Troops can't be everywhere at once and with some of the locals being spies for the Green Shirts, they would know the patterns of movement of the divisions stationed there. Like all military organizations, they follow routines and that can be used against them. If a group of these Green Shirts staged their action on an area that wasn't well manned on a particular day, they could cause enough damage to halt or delay passage through Suez.” He tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “It wouldn't have to be the Canal. They could be aiming for a general uprising against the Egyptian government. Once in power, they might believe they could force a revised treaty.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Q turned in his seat and watched Bond stare out at the distant monuments of the plateau, the pyramids sharply delineated against the vivid blue of the sky.

“I have to think a bit. I'll need to coordinate with the Cairo station.” Bond turned his head to fix his eyes on Q. “You seem to think I'm going to involve you further in this.”

“I'm already involved. There's no point in saying I'm not. They know I know something or they wouldn't have gone after me in the hotel and gotten into my things here. And you have to acknowledge I've already been of some help.” Q was eager to find a reason to stay part of Bond's plans. He wasn't deluding himself about Bond eventually having to move on from Egypt but this was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to Q and he didn't want it to end just yet.

Bond appeared to consider this for a bit then leaned over and unlatched the passenger door, his body leaning into Q, his frame solidly muscular and tantalizing. He turned and opened his own door and gestured toward the mastabah wall, covering the few steps to it in long strides. Q followed, apprehensive and eager at the same time. He hesitated when he was within arm's reach and Bond extended a hand and grasped him by the wrist, reeling him in to stand facing him. He wrapped one arm around Q's waist and brought the other hand to the side of his face. Q stepped in closer and brought his hands up cradling either side of Bond's face, stroking his fingers through the short blonde hair as Bond leaned in for a kiss. He squirmed happily as the hand at his waist dipped down to caress his arse through his native robe and the linen trousers. He was caught between pressing back to the hand and forward to feel the firmness of Bond's erection meeting his. He moaned desperately into the kiss wondering how he could become so aroused so quickly and decided it didn't matter much. Bond slid his mouth around to Q's ear, nibbling at the lobe and then sighing a bit before pulling away a little. “I suppose I can't convince you to stay out of this?” Q shook his head. “I don't like it but I suppose if I know what you're doing I have a better chance of keeping you safe.” This time Q nodded. “All right then. I'll stay tonight and be able to use the newspaper cover. Mr. Sterling just wants to write a story about the tomb opening. Tomorrow night I'll go back to Cairo to see what Montrose has uncovered.” He returned his attentions to Q's ear, running his tongue around the rim and then whispering, “This isn't 'later' but I rather think we need to do something about this now. Will I be sharing your tent tonight?” He tugged at the collar of the robe, pushing it aside and planting a kiss at the join of Q's collar bones, the skin pale under the robe but flushing up a vivid pink with the attention. 

“I don't see where else we could put you. There's certainly room enough, mhhhm.” Q found his response smothered by another series of kisses, increasingly exciting. He leaned back, eyes closed and mouth open and hungering for more, trying to shift his hips nearer. Bond crouched briefly, gripped the hem of the striped fabric and lifted it over Q's head, He spread it on the soft sand and then knelt, pulling Q with him to kneel opposite him. Strong hands pushed gently and Q found himself lying back on the robe, Bond looming above him. The broad hands seemed suddenly to be everywhere, pushing up under his vest and then gliding back down to the fastenings of his trousers. Bond lifted his head and smiled. 

“Shall I continue?” he asked in a very conversational tone completely belied by the way his fingers were stroking at the soft skin of Q's belly, tickling through the trail of dark hair and promising sweet mayhem. 

Q managed a nod and a choked out “Yes.” Bond leaned in, kissing him again, tongue sliding in to mate with his and stealing every other thought from his head. He barely noticed the button and zip opening but he arched up almost throwing the other man off when a calloused palm stroked over his erection. “Bond! James! Please, too much!” His breath stuttered and he gave a hoarse inarticulate cry as a firm grip stalled the inevitable reaction and he felt like crying and laughing at once. 

Q thrashed and squirmed but Bond held on and leaned in whispering in his ear. “It's all right. Been a long time, has it? Just breathe.” The urgency retreated and the grip loosened. He felt like he had been hard forever but he didn't want to let this moment go too quickly. His breathing evened out a little. He finally opened his eyes, He reached for the man above him and when his fingers fumbled at Bond's own clothing, the man reached to undo the buttons himself, sliding the zip down carefully and sliding his underwear out of the way. Q's eyes widened. He reached a fingertip out to trace the broad head of the cock that was pressing forward, foreskin drawing back, red and wet and bigger than he could remember seeing, not that his experience was all that much. He ventured an experimental stroke of his fingers and Bond hissed out an encouragement and bore down into his hand. Q was caught up in his enjoyment and only reluctantly let go when Bond eased him back again and then grasped both their cocks in one of his hands, bracing the other next to Q's shoulder, and began to stroke both in a steady cadence that soon had Q crying out desperately for more and bucking his hips up in time with the movements until his racing heartbeat was all he could hear in his ears and he fell over the edge of climax, dimly aware that James had come as well, his body relaxing to one side.

Q wasn't sure what to do next. His few experiences had been furtive and quickly over with both he and whoever he was with leaving quickly. Bond didn't seem in any hurry. He stretched lazily and extracted a handkerchief from a pocket. He wiped his hand and then Q's belly which brought on a fit of ticklish giggles. Bond smiled and followed the clean up with a kiss to the quivering skin and began to put his clothes to rights. He sat back and watched as Q did the same. “I enjoyed that,” he commented. “I would have preferred a more leisurely encounter but I rather thought it might be better to take some of the edge off before we have to share a tent later. Agreed?”

Q was shaking out the robe, in preparation for putting it back on. “You certainly don't want to share with Hastings. He snores abominably. And my tent is certainly large enough. I just need to put an extra cot in there and move some of my equipment.”

They made their way back to the car, Bond scanning the area and, apparently satisfied at seeing nothing suspicious, slid into the driver's seat and took a leisurely route back to the camp. Q couldn't find much to say. Bond had been so casual about their encounter, as if it were a usual thing to do. Q wondered if the man regularly encountered men, or possibly women, willing to join him in such assignations. If so, what did it mean for him? He was a bit at sea with all this.

“You're thinking too hard,” Bond observed mildly. He turned his head briefly to look at Q. “If you have questions, you can ask. I don't promise I can answer them all but what I can, I will.”

“I'm not even sure what to ask.” Q stared at his hands, twining together in his lap. “Is this something you do often? I mean getting involved with someone when you're working?”

Bond tapped a finger on the gear shift. “I don't look for it. There have been jobs where a seduction is part of the way I get needed information. That's different. You're different. I'm not sure how but you are. You interested me even before I found out how you were involved in the investigation. I meant what I said. I want to have the time to enjoy every possible pleasure with you. I'll find a way to make it happen. We are not done by any means, at least as far as I am concerned.”

Q had the feeling this was very honest for Bond. He was reluctant to push further than this. After all, a week ago he hadn't known the man existed. “We should get back to the dig perhaps. Professor Hastings will be wondering where we are and gets a bit out of sorts when supper is delayed.” Bond nodded and set the car on the route back to the dig site.


	8. Chapter 8

Professor Hastings had a great deal to say at supper. He detailed the entire course of his research that had led to the tomb of Meskhenet. He bemoaned the obstacles that he had overcome, the lack of credence given him by the college and the difficulties of obtaining permits for the dig and the amount of baksheesh he had needed to spread around to various parties to avoid further aggravation. He had gone over the trials of the voyage out to Egypt including extensive seasickness and finding crates of his necessary gear held up in customs, again requiring bribes. By the time he was finished, and it took a ridiculous amount of time for him to wind down, one would have thought he had come to Egypt with a garden trowel and a toothbrush and sniffed the tomb out with his nose before excavating it one grain of sand at a time. Bond dutifully made notes as the man spoke, occasionally making an interrogative noise which was all it took to keep the flood of words going. Hastings finally yawned and rose to his feet. “I'm off to bed. Must get an early start to have the best light for the opening tomorrow. Very exciting day.” He wandered off to his tent with continued mutterings about the import of this discovery and the benefit to archaeology. 

Q had said perhaps five words all evening, mostly to offer more food or answer a question with, “Yes, Professor.”He stretched his arms above his head and uncoiled from the cushion he had been seated on. Hastings had used a camp stool but he and Bond had preferred the cushions that the Egyptians tended to use. He gathered the remains of the meal to be disposed of away from the sleeping areas and headed for his tent. He looked back as Bond followed him. “I had Tareq get one of the men to add a second cot for you. The tent's intended for more than one but I have so much equipment it tends to seem small.” He gestured to a tiny metal sided shed nearby. “That's where I develop my film. Easier to keep it dark and it keeps the chemicals away from where I sleep.” He held open the flap and allowed Bond to enter ahead of him, lighting a lantern and securing it to one of the posts supporting the tent. The second cot was indeed in place, Q's crates of supplies and the scarred wooden table he used as a workspace pushed to the side. The table bore a scattering of objects that appeared to have no relation to each other but seemed to be part of something Q was building. Bond nudged carefully at a small spring attached to a metal cylinder. Q chuckled. “You've found my other hobby. I tinker with all sorts of things.”

Bond eyed the oddments and turned to ask, “What is this going to be then?”

Q nibbled his lower lip and gave a shy smile. “You know those pocket knife setups that have multiple tools on them? I'm trying to make something similar but about the size of a pen.” He waved a hand at the object. “It's just a silly toy really, hardly worth the effort.”

Bond interrupted still studying the items on the table. “I actually think I would appreciate having something like that. It sounds useful. Think about it. If I am apprehended somewhere I am not supposed to be, I am certainly not going to be allowed to keep a pocket knife, but a pen might well be overlooked. Seriously, if you perfect one, I want it. I can trial it and tell you if it needs improvements.” He smiled as he replaced the bits and pieces on the table, carefully setting them where they had originally been.

Q had closed the tent flap, fastening it top and bottom. The lantern cast a golden glow over the interior. He sat on the edge of his own cot and began to remove his boots, setting them neatly side by side. He hung the striped robe up on a nail on the other tent post and slid his braces down off his shoulders. Bond was setting aside his suit, folding each piece carefully and setting it near the case one of the men had brought from the car. He extracted a pair of sturdy boots and lined them up at the foot of the cot. He tucked the suit neatly away after pulling out a pair of khaki trousers and a crisp cotton shirt with pockets. He finished by tucking the case out of the way under the cot. Q found himself staring. The light picked out faint lines of scars here and there and a dusting of blonde hair on chest and limbs. He closed his eyes, trying to find the discipline to just lie down and forget there was such a man within arm's reach. He found recollections of the afternoon tumbling through his head and wondered if he could sleep at all.

Bond took the few small steps to come up to the cot and sank down to one knee. “I rather think we won't be getting any sleep if we don't do something a bit risky. Do you think you can manage to stay quite quiet?” Q nodded and received a kiss in acknowledgment. Bond stood and doused the lantern. Q accepted the wisdom of that action. It wouldn't do to cast shadows on the canvas, visible to anyone outside. Bond returned to the cot, pressing Q gently back until he leaned against the crate next to the cot, his legs hanging over the side and Bond pressing in between them. Firm hands gripped Q's pants and the soft cotton slid down and halted at his knees before Bond folded his right leg back a bit and slipped the foot free. Those same hands caressed upwards from his knees to his groin, passing slowly over skin and ruffling the small hairs on his thighs. Q shivered and brought his forearm up to his mouth, pressing firmly to stop any sound as Bond leaned in and licked a wet swath up his cock from base to tip. The action repeated several times, before Bond lowered his open mouth slowly over the head, his breath cooling than heating. Q bit his lip fiercely and struggled to stay as still as he could manage. Bond's head bobbed, rhythmic and slow at first, sucking as he withdrew and making soft wet sounds that, combined with the sharp sound of Q breathing through his nose, were the sole noises in the dark intimacy of the tent. Q felt the grip of firm fingers at his hips and wondered if he might have bruises and reveled in that thought. The heat and pressure built with every slow pull of the talented mouth and Q finally brought his free hand down, pressing urgently at Bond's solid shoulder to warn him off. To his utter shock, the man simply worked the cock in his mouth harder, sliding an agile tongue around it as he withdrew and swallowing hard around it when he sank down further than he had previously. Q gave a muffled grunt against his forearm and strained against the hold on his hips and his release surged out of him with Bond swallowing several more times before resting his head against Q's thigh. 

Q breathed heavily for a few moments and then pulled himself up, sitting at the cot edge. He trailed his hand up from the shoulder he had not released and pulled Bond in closer, slotting their mouths together and tasting himself on the other's tongue, He broke free and murmured, “Stand up.” Bond did as he asked and Q tugged impatiently at the pants, stretched outwards by the man's erection. He grasped the solid thighs and leaned forward to bury his face against the firm belly, inhaling sweat and musk and sliding his mouth downward. He felt quite greedy, and eagerly gripped the shaft, licking and absorbing the shape and feel of silky skin and the steady trickle of fluid that spoke eloquently of arousal. He widened his mouth and slid down the shaft, trying what few things he knew he enjoyed. Bond hissed a soft sound that might have been 'yes' and Q felt the weight of one hand on his head. He followed the unspoken suggestion of the rhythm, the utterly delicious mess he was making a pleasure of it's own, precome and spit dripping from his chin. Bond's movements became more urgent and his breath sounded strained. Q tightened his lips and swallowed hard against the head of Bond's cock, and took as much of the sudden flood as he was capable of, wiping the remainder on the discarded vest he had been wearing. Bond joined him on the cot, the frame creaking a little under the weight. They rested for a moment before Bond placed a kiss on the top of Q's head and whispered 'good night' in his ear. He stood and moved silently to the other cot, and Q settled himself in his own. He left the blanket off, adjusting his pants back into place and letting his breathing settle. Bond's respirations eased into a pattern of sleep, slow and untroubled. Q tried to do the same, but lay awake a long time. He had never expected such easy intimacy. He wondered what it might be like to have that sort of pleasure all the time, not just the physical but the possibility of someone who understood what he needed and whose needs he understood. He wondered if other men in his position felt the same things or just enjoyed whatever pleasure they could without wondering about the future. He eventually drifted off, pulling the blanket over himself as the desert cooled in the early hours of the morning.


	9. Chapter 9

Q opened his eyes before the early morning activity of the camp had gotten underway. The tent was quiet, the other cot empty. Bond was an early riser as the sun was barely making it's way over the horizon. Q heard the grumbling of camels and the voices of the workers as they went about the business of prayers and breakfast. He sat up, being careful to check the rug covered floor under his feet. More than once he had found a scorpion had taken advantage of the night to make a space for itself. He shook out each article of clothing and upturned his boots before dressing. He brushed his teeth and his hair and opened the tent flap. 

Prayers over, the men were brewing coffee and chatting among themselves. Q caught a few comments about the tomb. One of the younger diggers seemed fearful that something bad might happen if they opened the burial chamber. Mahmoud glared at him and asked him if he were really a follower of the Prophet. The fellow stammered out something and Mahmoud cut him off, telling him to stop being an idiot and that Allah would protect him and all of them. 

Q noticed Bond sitting on the running board of his car, sipping coffee and nibbling at the bread and ful that was the standard breakfast fare in the camp. He was wearing the more casual attire he had laid out the night before and Q admired the way it fit him, fighting down a blush as he reflected that the man did not need any clothes to set off his looks. Q grabbed his own food and coffee and wandered over to sit with him. They were companionably quiet for a bit. “The workers seem a bit nervous,” Bond finally commented.

“Mahmoud just set one of them straight. And anyone else in the group that heard it got the same message. It's a pity we can't tell them about the sabotage but I'm not sure if any of them might be Green Shirt sympathizers.” Q paused running the thought through his mind. “Do you suppose one of them is planted here to oversee the damage done and make the rest nervous?”

“I'd bet on it,” Bond responded, “likely more than one so they can cover for each other. That damage to the timbers took a while. Whoever did it had a lookout. How do the workers get hired?”

Q gazed off at the other side of the camp where Professor Hastings was just sitting down to his own breakfast. Eggs and toast for him although he generally avoided bacon or sausage when he was in camp. “Tareq supervises the work gangs. A lot of them are members of his family and he works with them all the time. Since there are not enough of those for a dig this size, he hires men he's worked with in the past or those recommended to him by others. Most is word of mouth. Good workers get a reputation. I suppose if someone he trusted was sympathetic to the Green Shirts, he might not know it and they could have sent him someone he wouldn't have questioned.”

Bond gave a grunt and followed as Q returned to his tent, leaving the coffee cups with the men cleaning up. Q picked up the canvas bag holding his favorite camera and checked the equipment. He added more film and exchanged a lens for another from an open crate and hoisted the bag on a shoulder. By the time he was walking toward the tomb entrance, Professor Hastings and Tareq were heading the same way. 

“Good morning, Mr. Sterling! Are you quite ready for today? Hope you slept well.” Professor Hastings was effusively happy this morning. He was carrying his own canvas bag with his hand tools and Tareq carried a large padded mallet and battery lantern. Tareq left the lantern and stepped to the side, starting the generator and checking it's fuel levels.

Bond smiled agreeably. “I did sleep well. Professor. I know you must be quite excited today.” Q, as he had expected, was ignored by Hastings. He used the opportunity to make his way down the steps and switch on the lights now that the generator was working. He set up the camera on a tripod and took several exposures of the intact wall and door, it's funerary seals visible more easily in the brighter light. Footsteps announced the arrival of the others. Bond stepped around the camera and stood beside Q watching as Hastings and Tareq approached the long sealed door. The Professor set about removing the seals, making a disappointed sound when they failed to come off intact. He carefully deposited the pieces in a basket for later documentation and placed a pry bar in the faint line between the frame and the door, a slab of stone fitted very snugly in place. Tareq struck the handle with the mallet and it sank in further and then he grasped the handle, pulling steadily on it. The action was repeated and the stone of the door began a slow grating progress out of the frame, Q took pictures at various points as the work progressed. After some long minutes of straining, the door only seemed to move the smallest amount despite Hastings and Tareq both putting a huge effort into it.

“Here, Mr. Sterling. Come be a good fellow and lend a hand.” Hastings gestured at Bond who moved into the small space near the door and took up position with Tareq. They both set their shoulders into the door and braced their feet and pushed. The grating of sand and stone went from a soft scratching to a squeal as the door moved. They kept pushing, not abandoning the momentum and Q kept exposing more film as the shifting stone revealed the space behind it. Both men left off pushing when the opening was large enough to admit a man. Tareq produced a small candle and lit it, holding it in the entrance and watching the flame carefully. They let the candle burn down a bit before Tareq gestured at the opening and Professor Hastings stepped forward with a lantern in hand. He paused in the opening, following the path of the light and stopped in an attitude of utter astonishment as a smile broke out on his face. “Oh this is glorious!” he crowed. “Come look. It's amazing!” He moved so they could see and Q reflected that it was quite wonderful. The actual tomb was packed with grave goods. Among the carefully stacked items he made out a small boat, an ornate chair, various cases and boxes with inlaid wood and stone designs and, in the midst of it all, a sarcophagus in a lovely rose tinted stone. The walls that could be seen were decorated as the antechamber had been, with brilliantly depicted scenes from life and afterlife. Q maneuvered the camera into place at Professor Hastings' direction and began to capture images in the lantern light. He would get more as soon as the electric line could be extended but it was important to get this first documentation as soon as possible. 


	10. Chapter 10

“I almost wish I were an actual journalist,” Bond commented as he watched Q sort through the first artifacts removed from the tomb proper. “This is all something other people should see.” Q nodded absently as he examined a flat box, finally finding the clasp and easing it open gently. He stared at the contents that had been chosen to follow a woman through the centuries. 

“This was her work,” Q pronounced reverently. “This is the box she used for her writing. This shallow bowl is where she mixed her inks. These brushes were likely made for her.” He tapped a piece of dark stone. “She would grind this to make a powder and mix it to make the ink. The stone is uneven and the bowl and brushes are stained. This isn't a symbol of her work. These were her tools.” He shook his head as he touched the delicate reed brushes. “This woman was as real as you or I. She had a life and her work. And she valued her tools.” He pointed to the side panel of the box. “She repaired this at least once.” He angled the camera lens and adjusted the settings, taking several exposures and making some notes in the book at his elbow. When he was done, he placed the writing box in a crate in the corner of the antechamber and gathered up his equipment. Bond followed him as he climbed the steps into the daylight and acknowledged the man Tareq had assigned to guard the place. 

“I'm going back to Cairo this evening,” Bond said as they walked slowly toward Q's tent. “I have a feeling the opening will stir some of our conspirators up. There are more night guards?”

Q set the camera bag down and sat on the cot edge. “I suggested it to the Professor given what we've seen so far. He spoke to Tareq so there will be at least two men, one at the tomb and one walking the camp. I asked Tareq to make sure the men he used were family. I just hope that's enough. We can't abandon the dig site now. The find is too valuable.”

“I can see that,” Bond responded. “The artifacts would bring a fortune on the black market.”

“It's not just the money. The scientific value is huge when the find is as intact as this is. The pieces form a whole that gives us so much information. This may not have been my chosen career but I can see the importance of keeping everything together until it can be evaluated properly.” Q frowned. “How long do you think you'll be in Cairo?” 

Bond paused in repacking his case. “I'd guess a day, maybe two if more leads turn up. And I need to speak to the station chief.” He pulled out the pistol he carried and checked the chambers before holstering it under his jacket. He strapped a sheath knife to his forearm and pulled his jacket on. Nobody looking at him dressed this way would see the weapons. He turned as he reached the opening of the tent. “I have to come back. There's a job to finish and besides, I promised us both a 'later'. He dropped a casual and unexpected kiss on Q's forehead and strode away in the lengthening afternoon light. A few moments later there was the sound of the high powered engine retreating toward the Cairo road. Q decided it might be a good time to set up the dark room. He would need to develop the film he had used today and after supper would be a good time. He checked the supplies of chemicals and laid out the trays and set the cannisters of exposed film inside before joining Hastings for supper. The Professor was in an jovial mood and broke out a bottle of wine from his stores. Q sipped one glass throughout his meal while Hastings consumed almost all the rest. He waxed expansive in his plans for exhibits and lectures and scholarly works based on the discovery. Q sat and made non committal replies and wondered whether the guards they had posted would be enough. 

He retired to his darkroom shed after the meal and began to develop the film he had taken. He worked carefully and methodically, unwilling to risk the images that were irreplaceable. He smiled as he realized several of the images featured Bond, caught in the midst of assisting Tareq. They weren't suitable for anything in the official record but Q made sure he printed copies for his own private perusal. The ones of a sweat stained figure with muscles straining against his shirt and teeth bared in effort were certainly exciting but the two or three that showed the man's face, as he was invited to look into Meskhenet's tomb, were truly amazing. Bond was completely, artlessly entrancing as childlike wonder brightened his features. Q allowed these to dry and very carefully tucked the negatives and the prints he made from them away in an envelope and placed them in a pocket. He'd put them in his diary later. He finished with all the film he had used that day and cleaned up the small space and crossed the few steps to his tent. 

Night had fallen since he began working and the moon was just off the full now. He saw the light from a cigarette by the tomb, the guard enjoying a smoke. Hastings' tent was quite dark, the man probably deeply asleep after his indulgence at supper. As on the previous few evenings, there were men awake at the fires and low conversation. One of the men was speaking about his wife expecting a new child and wondering if they might get a bonus for the value of what they had uncovered. Q somehow hoped that would be the case. The diggers did the hard work and certainly deserved a better recompense when the results were as good as these were.

Q lit the lantern in his tent and set it on his bench, pulling up the rather rickety stool he used for his tinkering. He drew out his diary and turned to the diagrams he was working from and picked up a tweezer and set a jeweler's loupe in one eye, leaving his glasses at his elbow. A few hours later, he had a slightly bulky pen in front of him but it also concealed a knife blade, a screwdriver and the top functioned as a lighter, although with limited fuel capacity. It even wrote. He opened and closed the mechanisms a few times and idly clipped it to a small notebook and deposited it in his pocket. He thought he might actually give it to Bond when he saw him again. He didn't feel tired so he wandered the length of the camp. The guard on the tomb had changed. The new man was Tareq's son-in-law. Q nodded in passing and moved on. Mahmoud was, again, guarding the lorry. He lay wrapped in his blanket, his arm shading his face from the moonlight. Q walked to the farthest edge of the camp and stared out toward the horizon. He swung his head to the right and squinted. He thought he had seen something. He scanned back and forth several times and was beginning to think he had been mistaken when n a light appeared briefly and then vanished again. He checked his bearings and decided the area was the one he had pointed out to Bond on the map. As he stood quietly, the light appeared and disappeared several more times. Someone was signaling. If it were simply work, the lights would be steady. If it were an accident, it would not have been repeated. This was purposeful and he began, without consciously deciding, to move toward the light. It ceased flashing after a few moments, Q proceeded in a zig zag course, taking advantage of such minor cover as he could find in depressions and beside small outcrops of old stone. It took him a long time to cross the distance, moving carefully so as not to be seen. The head of the dry wadi offered better cover and he dropped to his stomach and eased forward on elbows and knees, sand shifting and rolling away and making him pause in a near panic every time the slight noise threatened to escalate. He eventually began to hear soft voices in what may have been the local dialect. It was hard to tell as the speakers seemed to be on the move. There was a metallic clatter and a half heard curse and Q strained forward to hear more. When he was able to look down, he saw several men standing around some large crates. One of the crates had been opened and metal glinted dully under the moon. Weapons, submachine guns from the look of them. More men arrived, bringing another crate like the first two. Q looked back the way they had come and made out a wagon pulled by donkeys. They were adding weapons to the cache they had established then. He needed to try to get closer to see if he could overhear their conversations. His hand slid over the uneven surface and several small pebbles rolled downslope and a shouted voice called out an alarm. Two of the men began running toward him. He pushed himself to his feet and began to run back to the camp. He had barely gotten into stride when a heavy weight struck between his shoulders and he hit the ground, rolling to a stop with someone pummeling him with their fists. His glasses had flown off and he brought his hands up to protect his face. Rough hands hauled him to his feet with a blindfold dropped over his eyes.

He could not see where he was being taken as he was pushed along. He dragged his feet and made as much of a fuss as he dared. Maybe there would be a better chance of being found if he left a trail. He heard voices around him all calling out advice on whether he should be shot but the voice he took to be the leader refused. “He is English and we don't want him found with a bullet in him. He will not die at our hands. He will simply disappear.” That didn't sound at all good. Q struggled harder and received a sharp blow to the head. He regained clear awareness as his body fell forward and he dropped several feet to a sand covered stone floor. He frantically twisted, the blindfold dislodging only to be reduced to darkness as a stone slab was pushed into place overhead, sealing him into what appeared to be an empty tomb.


	11. Chapter 11

Panic wouldn't help. Q kept telling himself that but it didn't stop his heart from pounding. He forced himself to slow his breathing. It wouldn't help if he ran out of air and he was unsure if there was any source of fresh air, a gap somewhere to allow him to breathe a bit longer. He felt his way to the wall, a rough surface without any specific carvings as far as he could tell. He stood slowly and didn't encounter a solid surface above. He reached a hand up and was able to brush his fingers over stone. That was actually better. The space was larger than it might have been. He traced his hands around the circumference of the space, digging his fingers in at the edges of the cover stone. He found an area that seemed a bit more broken. He frantically patted his pockets to see what he had that might be useful. A notebook and the photographs he had developed earlier. He slapped the cover of the notebook irritably and felt something unexpected. The pen was tucked inside the cover. He removed the metal cylinder and fumbled with it a moment before unfolding the screwdriver, remembering it was heavier than the knife blade. He began digging at the corner where the surface seemed to crumble most readily, pleased when small amounts of sandy soil began to fall away. This was going to take a long while. He set himself and continued to dig with the tool and his hands, tearing his nails in the process and getting a fair amount of dust and grit in his face. 

He had been digging for what felt like hours. His hands hurt and the space was becoming uncomfortably close, a sign the air was becoming bad he supposed. He tried not to think about that right now. He had taken a short break to stretch his back and flex his aching fingers. When he returned to his corner, he jabbed the screwdriver blade into the cavity he had managed to carve out so laboriously. A large chunk of sandstone struck his head a glancing blow and he cursed under his breath and brought a hand to his forehead. He felt something sticky and imagined he must be bleeding but it didn't seem too large an amount. He wiped it away and turned his face back up and blinked several times. He wondered if he were imagining it but he thought he saw a glimmer of light. He dug more feverishly and felt the sudden absence of resistance as the tool pushed through. He began trying to widen the aperture and brought his face up nearer to the definite opening to breathe the fresher air. Then he sat back down and began to think. 

Nobody knew where he was except the men who had put him here. If he had a hope of getting out, he had to contrive some way of getting the attention of someone not involved with the plotters. He stood up and began to widen the opening even further, reviewing what he had with him. A fire might gain attention but he had to time it properly. Bond had planned to return and would surely be curious as to where he had gone. But when was he returning? And how quickly might he come this way? Might it be possible just to tunnel the rest of the way out? Maybe but the men who were involved might still be nearby. If they realized he was escaping, they might just come up with a more permanent solution. 

As a bit more daylight filtered in, he began to feel generally better. He was battered, thirsty and half blind without his glasses and he had a nasty knock on the head but he had no intention of dying in someone else's tomb. He glanced up as movement caught his attention. He smoothly exchanged the screwdriver for the knife blade and drove it through the body of the scorpion that was scuttling along the wall. It quivered and went still. Q withdrew and wiped the blade. He hated the damned eerie misbegotten things. He surveyed the surroundings as best he could but didn't see any others. He decided to see if he could get the opening large enough for his arm to go through and worked at that for a time. The light was changing, less direct on the area he was excavating. He stopped periodically to listen but heard very little that was helpful. Until the engine noise began to cut through his exhaustion. The sound was a low growl, powerful and distinctive. Bond's car. It was the only one in this part of Egypt he was sure. He was desperate to draw attention. He tore off a piece of his robe and several sheets from the notebook and triggered the lighter in the top of the pen. The paper seemed to take a long time to catch fire but he tried to be patient hoping it wasn't wishful thinking that the car sounded closer. He gingerly touched the fabric to the flame and held his breath as it finally caught., then used the pen to shove the makeshift torch up into the daylight. He added more tinder once it was outside. The smoky flames bothered him at first but he realized it was useful, making the signal easier to see. 

He began to breathe easier as the engine noise grew louder, coming closer until he could hear the crunch of tires over the sand and gravel. There was a sharp thud of the car door slamming and hurrying footsteps. “Who's there?” came Bond's voice.

Q almost laughed out loud. “Just me and a very dead scorpion,” he replied. 'Any chance of getting out of here?” He slumped back against the wall, allowing the exhaustion to replace the fear that had been gnawing at him for hours. There were footsteps and the smoky fire was put out. 

“If I try to slide this, can you push at all from underneath? Are you hurt?” Bond was moving around the stone slab, finally circling around to the spot Q had been digging at and grabbing the edge. Q rose to his feet and placed his hands on the stone overhead. When Bond lifted, he shoved as hard as he could. There seemed to be a slight shift and they tried again. This time there was a grating noise and a shower of sand into the space and a line of late afternoon daylight appeared. Q felt like crying in gratitude. He found a bit more energy and heaved as hard as he could and this time the stone moved back about 4 inches. He got his hands around the edge and the next effort left him staring up at a silhouette of Bond's head against the clear azure of the sky. He reached his hands up and Bond grabbed him firmly and pulled. He managed to get his knees then his feet under him and found himself standing next to the tomb that might very well have been his own last resting place. 

Bond brushed dust from his hair and then did something very unexpected. He placed a hand to either side of Q's face and kissed him, a hard and desperate contact that rocked him back on his heels and left him panting when it ended. Without another word, Bond led the way to the car, parked a few yards away. He produced a handkerchief and a canteen and sat Q on the passenger seat, wiping blood and dust from his hands and face. “What did they hit you with?” he gestured at the cut which seemed to have stopped bleeding.

“That was actually me,” Q confessed. “A stone fell while I was excavating myself out of there.”

Bond gestured him to pull his feet in and closed the door. To Q's surprise he walked back over and shoved hard at the stone lid to get it back into place, at least enough for it to be unremarkable to a casual observer. He came back and settled behind the wheel and put the vehicle into gear but didn't head back to the dig site immediately. He drove slowly in a circuitous route and brought the car to a stop half a mile from the tents, behind the piled debris of an abandoned dig site. “Tell me what happened.”

Q collected his thoughts and tried to recall anything that might be useful. “I saw activity by the wadi site, lantern flashes in patterns. Not Morse but some sort of code. I went closer to see if I could see what they were doing. There were at least half a dozen men moving crates that seemed to have been hauled in by wagon. One of the crates was open. It was full of machine guns. I tried to get in closer to hear what they were saying but I gave my position away. They caught me and threw me in there.”

Bond considered this for a bit. “I think taking you back to the dig site would be a mistake. Whatever spy they have there will realize that you escaped and know more than is safe. They'll either change their plan or make a serious attempt on your life. I'm taking you back to Cairo with me. The conspirators will think you're out of the way. I have to get your information to the station in Cairo and arrange a few things to put a stop to all this. We'll stay at a safe house in the city overnight. I think, based on the activity and some intelligence Mr. Al Kindi uncovered, they may be making a move tomorrow or the next day.” He looked at Q consideringly. “Is there anything you need from your tent?”

“I have an extra set of glasses in a case on a hook over my cot. And I would like the diary I left on my work bench. Other than that, nothing.”

Bond slid out of the car and all but disappeared in seconds. He was gone perhaps twenty minutes, as Q listened to the ticking of the cooling engine and the now familiar desert noises. Bond reappeared as ghostly as he had left, handing Q the small rucksack he carried for his photography. His favorite camera was in it as well as a few items of clothing and the requested diary and his spare glasses. He donned the latter gratefully. “Thank you, James.”

“You're welcome. Since I was already there, it seemed practical to take a few other items. Tareq's guards are alert but they're not professionals. I did hear a few things said about you. It seems Hastings has been quite upset at you going missing which is all to the good. The more noise he makes about it, the more likely the conspirators will think they succeeded.” He turned the car back toward Cairo and focused on the road.


	12. Chapter 12

Q sat back in the passenger seat and pulled the hood of his robe forward to protect his face from the inevitable blowing sand as Bond drove as fast as was practical. Once in the city, he rolled down several narrow streets and pulled the car under an awning which dropped down behind the car, effectively hiding it from the street. 

Bond stepped out and led Q to a door that led to a pretty courtyard. Rooms opened off it under a gallery. A fountain splashed in the middle, surrounded by brickwork. A figure stepped out and Q recognized the man called Al Kindi. “Welcome back, Mr. Bond. And welcome also, Mr. Bedford.” He peered a bit more closely at Q. “Might you be in need of a doctor?”

Q shook his head wearily. “I don't think so, but I would be very grateful for a bath and a place to rest for a bit.”

“Of course. Follow me.” Al Kindi waved an arm expansively and led them to a room off the courtyard, the light from several lamps spreading a warm glow over the carpeted space. A screen in the corner proved to conceal a tub. Bond circled the room, peaking out through the blinds as Q sank down on a large floor cushion. Al Kindi left, returning several moments later followed by a troop of young men carrying steaming jars of water. They filled the tub quickly and Al Kindi returned again, this time accompanied by a woman who set a large tray on the low table, laden with a coffee pot and cups and several covered dishes. Apparently satisfied with the security of the space, Bond followed Al Kindi out again. Q finally shoved himself to his feet. He dipped a hand in the tube, stirring it slightly. It was warm and scented with citrus. He tugged off his boots and began to strip off the last many hours of tension along with his clothes. He left his glasses tucked into the top of one boot and climbed into the tub and settled against the high curved back, sinking down so his knees poked up and the water lapped just below his chin. He was half asleep, relaxed by the warmth and the distant noises of the household and the even more distant noise of the streets when the door opened. He jerked awake with a splash and whipped his head around. Bond was standing just inside the door. He stepped forward as Q relaxed a little, crossing to the table to pour coffee. He brought both cups to the tub, handing one to Q and sliding to an easy cross legged position on the carpet. 

“The information we're getting is that the Green Shirts are going to make an assault on the Cairo rail line going out to Suez. They intend to disrupt the resupply and troop transport. One of our informants says they are planning to mine the tracks and set off an explosion as one of the big express trains go through. The physical damage would be devastating and require months to repair and require diverting resupply down the Canal itself. We think they plan to execute whatever passengers escape the detonation.”

“They want a blood bath,” Q said very quietly. putting his cup down. “They want as many dead as possible to draw attention to their cause and their dedication to it.”

“They won't get it if we can help it. We know what they're planning. We know where they've got the weapons and explosives hidden. We already have our own plan in place to prevent their's from succeeding. For now, I think it might be 'later'.” Bond smiled meaningfully and Q stared gaping as the man rose to his feet and began to undress. The glimpses he had gotten before had not prepared him for this. Bond was solidly muscled and the golden tan of his skin was interrupted by a white and pink tracery of scars including a very nasty puckered mess on his shoulder. When had gotten down to his underwear all Q could do was drink in the sight. Bond slipped out of the last garment. Q licked his lips at the sight of the half hard cock nested in curls slightly more red than blonde. Bond leaned down and gave him a teasing kiss before urging him forward and sliding into the tub behind him. The water didn't quite overflow but it splashed the carpet a fair bit. Q sat back gingerly against the broad body cradling him. Lips nuzzled his ear and he gave a wriggle as James slid a hand around his waist, fingers circling gently. He recalled his daydreaming in the tub at the hotel and let loose a soft groan as strong fingers moved downward and grasped his cock. He turned his head, wanting kisses and met Bond's mouth eagerly. He lost himself in the enjoyment of hands and mouth and gripped Bond's wrist hard as he came much too quickly. A soft chuckle in his ear and a flood of warm water from a pitcher, doused his hair and he spluttered and shook the wet mess out of his eyes. “Shh. Let me,” and James scrubbed his hair, removing sweat and grit and the last of the blood, rinsing with more water from the ewer left beside the tub. They finished washing, exchanging kisses and smiles as the water cooled. They dried each other off, taking time to explore and catalogue all the places that felt good.

“Do we have all night?” Q almost bit his tongue as he asked. He didn't want to put a limit on whatever this was. He leaned in and ran his tongue down the column of James' throat, nipping at the skin at the join of neck and shoulder and resting his head there a moment. 

“Nobody will bother us here. We have time.” James voice was low and held promises Q wouldn't look too closely at. James walked backward towards the bed and tugged Q after him. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, rolling together and enjoying the press of skin against skin. James licked a trail down Q's chest, sliding over a nipple. Q gave a hoarse shout and heard a low chuckle. James repeated the lick then began to suck, scraping his teeth lightly over the sensitized nub until Q moaned desperately, not sure if he wanted more or for it to stop. James shifted to the other side and Q thrashed, He grabbed wildly and found his hands had landed in a firm grip on James' arse, flexing in rhythm with the mouth tormenting him. James lifted his head with a growl, his eyes wide and the bright blue of the irises almost swallowed by the pupils. “Wonderful idea. Very clever.” He rose from the bed, padded to the bath tub and returned with a small glass vial. He handed it to Q who looked at it in some bemusement. “How would you like me then?” 

“You want me to...” Q trailed off, completely at a loss. He's done this before of course, but had rather seen himself on the receiving end with this man.

James leaned in and kissed him, sucking at his tongue and tipping the vial to coat his palm. He wrapped it, warm and slick around Q's cock and stroked a few times. “I want you in me right now. I hope that's clear enough.” He leaned back and brought his knees up. Q advanced carefully. He slicked his own fingers to press carefully against James' opening. James pressed back and hooked a heel behind Q's knee. “Come on, you won't hurt me.” Q pressed his erection forward, felt the gradual give and then the catch of muscle gripping him. He waited and felt the relaxation on a long shuddering exhale and sank all the way in. He held breathlessly still himself until James opened his eyes and smiled up at him and clenched and relaxed again. He found himself grinning like an idiot and began to move, building to a steady rhythm with James pressing back at him, skin slapping against skin, sweat and oil slicking the glide of flesh into flesh and both of them breathing harshly as they fought to prolong their pleasure. Q felt his own imminent release and reached a hand between them, stroking James' cock in time. The powerful body stiffened and warmth flooded between them and Q's movements stuttered and he came a few thrusts later. 

James didn't allow Q to roll away once he had carefully extricated himself. He wrapped an arm around his waist and brought his other hand up to brush through his hair. Finally sure of his voice, Q asked simply, “Why?”

James shrugged. “Why that way, you mean? I enjoy it. Always have. Not really sure why. Do you not?”

Q brought his head up and looked at James seriously. “I like both ways honestly but I'm more used to other men wanting to be the, uhh, active party so to speak.”

James chuckled. “We were both pretty active. And that's not all there is to pleasing each other.” He shifted and Q ended on his back with James turning over to throw one powerful arm over him and settle his head into the pillow next to his. “Sleep a bit. Al Kindi will wake us later.”


	13. Chapter 13

They half woke sometime during the night, luxuriating in lazy kisses and pleasing each other with slow caresses and then sleeping again. Q woke with the sound of soft voices in the room. James was at the door dressed only in his trousers. He nodded once and closed the door, coming back to the bed and greeting Q with a kiss. “Everything is in motion. You may want to see this.” Q scrambled up to dress, finding clean clothes in the rucksack and pulling a clean robe over his head that Mr. Al Kindi had apparently provided. James led the way up to the roof where there was a radio set up, an extensive shortwave set that was connected to a long aerial. Montrose and Al Kindi were nearby, dividing their attention between the radio operator and a large set of binoculars on a stand at the roof edge aimed at the plateau. 

“All positions report ready,” the operator said. “HMS Erebus awaiting instructions.” 

Montrose looked pointedly at James. “I do hope your friend is as good as you say. One shot is an accident. We can explain it. More than that risks international repercussions. Especially if he misses his range and hits something valuable.”

Bond smiled, that crocodile grin again. “He's that good. That's why he runs the program.”

Montrose nodded at the operator. “Give the signal.”

The operator spoke several rapid fire commands. Q watched as a bright flare rose from the plateau, from the area of the weapons cache. There was a pause and then a heavy thud from the direction of the Nile. Q spotted a puff of smoke and realized there was a warship in the river. One that had just fired a shell that was likely targeted on the flare. The impact was shattering. The flare was swallowed by a blinding explosion. Silence followed until the radio crackled. The operator listened and reported, “Observer reports cache destroyed. Hostiles on the ground eliminated.” He listened again. “Agents report apprehending conspirators at three locations, fourth was already empty.”

“They'll have gone to ground,” Bond observed. “Still a success.” 

“What just happened?” Q asked, a bit dazed.

Montrose answered. “Mr. Bond here is also Commander Bond, retired from His Majesty's Royal Navy. The Erebus is a gunnery training ship commanded by an old friend of his who happens to be a dead shot. We knew the ship was nearby and he suggested it might divert. Pity about that training accident. Must have scared a few civilians.”

“And is that how you work?” Q asked, wondering how many other things happening in the world were due to 'accidents' of this sort.

“Sometimes.” Bond replied. “Sometimes it gets messy.” He shook Montrose's and Al Kindi's hands and headed back into the house. The room they had shared still smelt of the citrus soap and the almond oil and of sex. Q sighed and began to turn his thoughts to how he was going to explain his absence to Hastings. He gathered up his things, carefully tucking the envelope with the photos of James away in his diary before closing the door behind him. He placed the rucksack at his feet as he settled in the passenger seat. He was quiet as James drove to a bland office building first. He gave a quick smile and darted up the steps, leaving Q in the car. He was gone almost an hour. The shade of the building kept the spot tolerable but the heat still made Q a bit sleepy and he didn't hear James return until he settled back in the driver's seat. 

The road to the dig site was crowded with military and police vehicles as well as an assortment of sightseers eager to view the location of the morning's 'accident'. The dig site was in an uproar with Tareq and his men diverting the traffic away from the area. Bond slowed and spoke to one of the military vehicles and a group of soldiers in the uniform of the Egyptian Army were soon detailed to guide the curious away. Professor Hasting greeted them with thanks for 'Mr. Sterling' and a round of scolding for Q for making worrying everyone and then a tirade about all the excitement and the noise and how there might be damage to the dig and the work would be delayed. It seemed the man would exhaust himself before Bond interrupted.

“Professor, I am terribly sorry for the trouble but, as you can see, the site is well guarded now. And I regret to say I have been recalled by my paper. But I will make sure they send a replacement. Your story and the history of Meskhenet deserves to be shared.” Hastings seemed shocked but looked at the soldiers and nodded. 

While they were speaking, Q began to retreat to his tent. He rather had the feeling he might be better of there than actually watching Bond drive away. He was pulling back the flap when a hand reached in front of him holding an ivory tinted envelope. He looked up to see Bond watching him with an unreadable expression. He looked at the envelope again and saw his name in a formal script and the back sealed with a very official looking stamp. He opened it carefully and read the enclosed page. 

“What is this?” He didn't quite understand.

“It's an offer. Pending security vetting and such. I think you'd be an asset to the intelligence service. I rather think they'll want you for R&D. I explained what you did to the station chief and he contacted London. That was what I stopped for this morning.”

“But they won't, I mean they'll have to know...” Q knew his past wouldn't be acceptable.

“They know all about me,” Bond responded. “The written rules say it matters but my director cares more about results. Anyway, once you accept, they wipe out your previous records. And you can call yourself whatever you like. Do you fancy being Q to your coworkers?”

“What about us?” Q had to ask. “Will we be able to...”

“So long as we don't screw up we can screw who we please. Make a mistake and they'll hang us out to dry. The thing is, I don't make mistakes.” Bond gave him a sidelong glance. “I don't think you make them either, at least where it counts.”

Q glanced worriedly out the at the dig. “What about Hastings? I feel like this would leave him with no help at all. He needs an assistant. He was kind enough to give me a post when nobody else would.”

“I thought you might say that. That's why I used the radio at the station to have a chat with London. They're sending a replacement since we need to deprive him of your services, a research fellow at the college who also happens to have a connection to our organization. He arrives by plane tomorrow evening. He'll keep an eye on things and make sure the Professor and the dig are safe.”

“It seems you've arranged everything. Were you sure I'd say yes?” Q felt a bit of irritation at being managed even if the result was the one he had wanted.

Bond's expression was earnest. “If you really don't want this, you can still decide to stay. I just rather thought you might be happier to be appreciated for your skills instead of tolerated or ignored. You heard Hastings just now. He was concerned for the dig, not you. You disappeared in dangerous circumstances, turn up injured and he makes it sound as if you were an errant child instead of the extraordinarily competent man I know you are.”

Q considered for a moment then said, “All true enough. But the real reason you want me to say yes is that you want a gadget filled pen.” He raised his head and challenged Bond with a grin.

“Of course I do. I'd like it better if you could figure out a way to include a small grenade.”

“You have a deplorable penchant for grandiose schemes and blowing things up, James.” Q tried to look disappointed and failed miserably. “Of course I'll accept the offer.” He held up an admonitory finger. “But I refuse to make a pen explode.”


End file.
